Chapter 39: Can the Potatoes Pass the Gate Scanners?
“What’s with those looks? I’m just reporting for labor service, not heading straight to my execution.”
Returning from the lottery at the plaza, Long Ya felt the bizarre way everyone was staring at her.
It was exactly like when Gerry had to report for duty back then.
Especially that punk Long Shi, looking at her with a gentle, tender sort of concern.
It made her skin crawl.
“Leaving tomorrow morning as usual?” Long Qian asked.
“Yeah.” Long Ya nodded. “Wait outside the shack tomorrow morning, and the guards will escort us to the Black Fields.”
After the drawing wrapped up, those selected were kept behind at the plaza to hear the guards lay out the regulations.
The service term lasted two months. A dedicated escort would take them to the Black Fields tomorrow morning, and leaving the perimeter during those two months was strictly forbidden. Food and lodging were provided inside the service zone, and daily rations were issued free of charge.
—In the past, there truly were people driven mad with hunger who volunteered for service just to secure guaranteed food.
Now, however, Long Ya and her crew couldn’t care less about those meager rations.
With roasted sweet potatoes, roasted potatoes, one-pot stew, pickled radish, and heavenly Malatang on offer, who would want to choke down tasteless, rock-hard survival bricks day in and day out?
At the very least, she had zero interest in them.
“The temperature runs low out in the Black Fields. Pack some warmer clothes, and take a thick quilt along too.”
This was fresh intel Gerry had brought back.
Long Qian and Qiu Jie had served their terms years ago, but according to Gerry, the conditions out there had shifted recently.
The most glaring anomaly was the drop in temperature.
The cause was unknown, and the overseers had never offered an explanation.
Strictly speaking, the Black Fields weren’t located within Seed City’s proper perimeter, but occupied a designated tract off to the northwest.
High walls hemmed it in, and the gates were guarded round the clock by armed officers; unauthorized passage was entirely forbidden.
Further west beyond the Black Fields stood Seed City’s penitentiary.
Every soul who violated the city’s statutes was locked away there—brawlers, robbers, killers, and thieves alike.
The post-apocalyptic legal framework bore little resemblance to the days before the fall.
There were no elaborate statutory articles or finely calibrated sentencing charts.
The law of the wastes was no longer a refined codex, but a blunt iron axe: whatever the infraction, the offender was thrown into the prison stockades, waiting to be conscripted into the Black Fields for hard labor.
Raw, heavy-handed enforcement maintained what order remained inside the city walls.
By holding human malice at gunpoint, peace was forcibly hammered into place.
Stealing rations carried the exact same penalty as murder—perhaps because in a ruinous world, stripping someone of their food was effectively robbing them of their hope to live.
“The convict sector is segregated from the civilian conscript sector,” Gerry cautioned. “The overseers keep watch, but just keep your distance. Those bastards aren’t right in the head; better to steer clear.”
Long Ya nodded, signaling she understood.
“Take this pair of gloves, they’re pretty thick. And this—this stone is my lucky charm. Last time we got ambushed out east, dodging that hit in time was all thanks to this baby. You can have it.”
Long Shi was emptying his pockets on the side.
Long Ya’s patience ran out. “Wrap it up, will you? Don’t make me deck you.”
“Wanna hit me? Go right ahead, be my guest.”
Long Shi leaned in earnestly. “Aiming for my chest? Or straight to the jaw?”
“…”
Long Ya recoiled in sheer disgust.
What was this idiot’s problem?
She pulled her hand back—if she slapped him across the face right now, she was genuinely afraid he might try to lick her palm.
Repulsive freak.
“Auntie Qian, what’s on your mind?”
Qiu Jie asked, breaking the silence.
Ever since her opening question, Long Qian had been sitting quietly, lost in thought.
The others turned their gazes toward her as well.
“I was wondering whether the roasted potatoes from Boss Ling’s stall could pass through the gate scanners.”
Seated by the table, Long Qian looked up and spoke.
“Report. Here is the final conscription roster from today’s lottery.”
A city guard in a black uniform bearing the insignia of one large and one small silver star set the paperwork onto the sprawling executive desk.
“Mhm.” Seed City Commander Yves picked up the roster, running his eyes over the names.
“Commander, the convict labor force suffered twelve casualties over the past month. Under the three-shift rotation, we are running critically short-handed.”
Yves lifted his gaze. “How severe is the deficit?”
“At least one acre of black fields will be left untended. Should we dissolve the current structure and transition to two twelve-hour shifts?”
“Human physiological endurance has hard limits.”
“Commander, you mean…”
“They are convicts, not mechanical parts. Serving a sentence is not a death march. If you switch to two shifts, starved of sleep and physical stamina, do you expect them to react in time when an anomaly breaks out in the field?”
“…”
Yves frowned deeply. “Maintain the existing shift rotation.”
“Yes, sir!”
“One more thing. Has the field anomaly been reported upward?”
“It has. One messenger pigeon dispatch was sent last month, followed by two more this month.”
The officer drew an envelope from inside his coat. “This acknowledgment receipt just arrived.”
Yves took the envelope. Its flap bore an intricate, blue wax seal.
Looking closely, a crescent moon motif rested dead center in the pattern.
Using a small utility knife, he sliced through the wax and pulled out the two stamped sheets within.
As his eyes scanned the text, Yves’s expression grew steadily bleaker.
By the end, he slammed the papers violently onto the wooden desk.
He gave a harsh, contemptuous sneer. “‘Received, received.’ Every single time, they acknowledge the anomalous report without offering a single word toward a solution! They do nothing about the Black Fields, yet they never forget to ratchet up the harvest quotas!”
“…Commander, how much did they raise it?”
“The total requisition for the second half of the year increased by twenty percent.”
“This… our yield has already plummeted by twelve percent over these past two months alone.”
“I have eyes, I can read the damn numbers,” Yves snarled in fury. “Those bastards don’t see the people of the frontier cities as human beings. With the casualty rate climbing this high, how many drafts does this city have left before it bleeds dry?!”
“…”
“Keith.” Yves pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a weary breath.
“Sir! Present, Commander!”
“Hold the Black Fields at their current scale. Instruct every overseer to keep their eyes peeled—strike down any anomaly the instant it stirs. I will not accept seeing casualty rates this high again!”
“Understood!”
“How is the wounded overseer holding up?”
“Undergoing medical stabilization.”
“We have three detox vials remaining in reserve, correct? Release one to the Overseer Division’s medical detail.”
“Yes, sir!”
Knock, knock, knock—
A sharp rapping came at the office door.
“Commander, Zhou Xue has arrived,” another guard’s voice called from the hall.
“Send her in,” Yves answered.
A crisp acknowledgment echoed back.
“Keith,” Yves commanded, turning to the officer before his desk. “Fetch two crates of medium-grade energy crystals and one detox vial.”
He glanced toward the door, signaling with a subtle shift of his eyes.
“Understood.”
Keith snapped a sharp military salute to Yves and turned on his heel.
